


Of Family and Friends

by sophisticus



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gals being pals, Gen, talking out the trauma, when you try and show you empathize but feel like you made it all about yourself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 08:05:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12477048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophisticus/pseuds/sophisticus
Summary: Cassandra finally opens up about her brother, and Delilah can empathize all too well.





	Of Family and Friends

Delilah marched through Skyhold’s main courtyard, scarf pulled up over the lower half of her face and jacket wrapped tightly around her. From one arm dangled a basket filled with food, wrapped securely in a cloth to keep it warm; in the other, she carried a bottle of Antivan wine that a recent visiting dignitary had given as a gift. A fine layer of snow and dead stalks of brittle grass crunched under her boots as she kept a brisk pace to keep warm, heading for the stairway that led to the upper half of the courtyard.

When she finally reached the blacksmith and shut the door on the fading daylight behind her, she stomped her feet to shake loose the snow accumulated on the bottoms, then headed up the stairs. Two flights of stairs later, she finally came across Cassandra seated at the table, head bent over a report, scratching away with a quill. She looked up as Delilah approached, and she smiled. “It seems I’ve lost track of time,” she said in her heavy accent. “Is it already dinnertime?”

“You still have the habit of skipping meals, I see,” Delilah teased gently. She set the basket and wine on the table and began unloading the food: a cut of venison, a loaf of bread, and a bowl of cut and cooked greens, along with a container of soft cheese and a knife, two plates, two forks, and two cups. “Paperwork is important, but your health is more important.”

“I know, you’re right,” Cassandra sighed. She finished a sentence, then set the report aside to dry. “Thank you for your concern.”

Delilah gave a brief smile, pouring them each a glass of wine before taking a seat opposite the warrior. As their friendship blossomed and they came to trust each other explicitly, the two had decided to celebrate each successful mission with a quiet dinner together. Sometimes another of Delilah’s companions joined, but usually it was just the two of them, and they spent these evenings debating whatever recent happenings caught their interest. Delilah found the shared time invaluable – Cassandra may not visit the war room often, but she was just as much an advisor as Jospehine, Leliana, or Cullen were. And since she was out on the field with her most every time, she could see things froma  more ground-level view and offer her unique take on everything from how to most efficiently help refugees, to planning the next major mission for the Inquisition as a whole.

“We just got back from a mission, it’s far too soon for you to succumb to cabin fever and let your health go,” Delilah teased. “We don’t have enough trees in Skyhold to survive if you need to punch one.”

Cassandra snorted, sputtering on her sip of wine. “Maker, I’d hoped you’d have forgotten about that,” she said. She coughed, and Delilah chuckled at the spots of color that appeared high on her sharp cheekbones. “Anthony was joking when he suggested it as a cure for hay fever; he always did have a strange sense of humor.”

Delilah carefully observed how the Nevarran’s eyes softened when her brother’s name was mentioned, how her amused smile withered slightly. “You miss him,” she said softly. Not quite a question, but hoping for an answer nonetheless.

“Yes,” Cassandra murmured. She kept her gaze on her plate.

“Tell me about him?”

Delilah didn’t expect her to answer – the first and only time Delilah had asked, Cassandra had made it clear she didn’t want to talk about it. From her swift dismissal of the topic and the pain in her eyes at the question, Delilah had guessed that her brother had died, which would certainly make discussing him painful.

However, when Cassandra spoke, her voice was soft and halting. “Anthony was older than I, a dragon hunter who showed what a Pentaghast could truly be,” she began. “I idolized him. I wanted to hunt dragons as he did, even though our uncle forbade it. Anthony promised to train me in secret. We would hunt together one day, brother and sister vanquishing the beasts of old.” As she spoke, she kept her eyes downcast, fixed on her hand gripping her fork. “And then he died on me.”

“I-I’m sorry,” Delilah said, backpedaling. It was clear saying this hurt her friend dearly. “I shouldn’t have pried-”

“No, it’s fine,” Cassandra said quietly. Her gaze finally rose, her deep brown eyes meeting Delilah’s hazel ones. In them, determination rose and solidified. “A group of apostates wanted dragon blood, and wanted Anthony to get it for them. He refused, and they killed him for it. In front of me.” She blinked and glanced away, but not before Delilah saw a film of tears in the warrior’s eyes. “I begged the Chantry to let me become a templar. Instead, they sent me to the Seekers. It took many years to let go of my drive for vengeance…at times I could not breathe; the rage nearly choked me.”

“I can sympathize,” Delilah said softly.

“I sometimes wonder how different my life would be if Anthony was still alive,” Cassandra continued, her gaze distant. “Would I be a dragon hunter? Married to some noble fool, a mother of three? I cannot say. I take solace in believing the Maker has a plan…but He is not always kind.”

The two women were silent for a moment. Delilah picked at her food, lost in thought. Suddenly, so much about Cassandra made sense – her distrust of unknown mages, her reluctance to allow mages to have little to no oversight, her action-favorable attitude, her temper that she clearly still struggled with. And in it, Delilah saw much of herself. An idea struck her, and she busied herself pushing up her sleeves as much as she could.

Cassandra watched with detached interest as the thin, red tattoo lines swirling on Delilah’s rich brown skin was revealed. Delilah held out her now bare arms towards the warrior, who raised an eyebrow. “You’ve seen most of my vallaslin before at some point or another, yes?” she questioned.

“Yes. It’s common knowledge the Dalish mark themselves with tattoos, but I was previously unaware it extended their whole body, like yours does,” Cassandra replied.

Delilah smiled faintly. “Normally, it doesn’t,” she explained. “Only my Keeper knows I’ve done this, and she only knew after I’d borrowed the ink kit and done it myself. I gave myself these following my father’s death.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Cassandra said quietly. Delilah nodded in acknowledgement.

“Magic wasn’t the only thing he taught me. I was seven when my father and I were out collecting herbs for the clan,” Delilah continued, her voice growing soft. “He was always so patient with teaching me their names, their uses, whether they could be eaten safely. I wasn’t a very good student, but he never lost his temper, never showed frustration. We came across a rabid wolf, separated from his pack, and the wolf attacked. My father set a shield spell around us for protection, then used magic to give the beast a mercy killing. A patrol of templars was nearby, and they saw the magic.” From Cassandra’s grave expression, Delilah knew she knew where this was leading. “They didn’t even say anything, didn’t try to take him to a Circle. They just slew him on the spot.”

“I’m sorry,” Cassandra repeated softly.

“I was…so angry for so long,” Delilah said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Like you said, the rage was choking. It was as if a fist held my heart and lungs tightly. With the help of a close friend I gave myself these tattoos, everywhere I could reach, as a visible and permanent statement and reminder of my dedication to protect my people, my friends, my family. Never again would their blood be spilled while their safety remained in my power, even if it meant my own life. I threw myself into my studies with the Keeper when I was made second, and I’ve dedicated my life to the safety and protection of my clan…and later on, the Inquisition.”

“I understand now why you’ve always been leery of templar-favorable actions,” Cassandra said slowly. “It certainly makes sense to be wary of the kinsmen of those who murdered your family unjustly.”

Delilah frowned, tucking a curl behind her ear. “I don’t mean to make this all about me,” she explained. “I’m sorry if it seems that way. I just wanted to make it clear, I understand exactly how you feel about Anthony. Neither he nor my father deserved their fates.”

Cassandra reached out and grasped Delilah’s hand in her own. Both women’s hands were calloused from their respective weapons, but the contact was warm and firm and reassuring. “I understand,” Cassandra repeated. “Thank you for telling me.”

Delilah smiled weakly, then pulled the warrior forward into a hug, leaning above the table to avoid landing on the plates of now-cold food. Cassandra stiffened in surprise, then wrapped an arm around Delilah in a slightly awkward embrace.

“Anthony would be proud of the woman you’ve become,” Delilah murmured.

“And your father would be proud of you as well.”


End file.
